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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29396832">pull the stars down from the heavens, fill your empty skies</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaroline/pseuds/notcaroline'>notcaroline</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Fluff, Johnny Suh Best Boy, Lee Taeyong Needs a Hug, Lee Taeyong-centric, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:14:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,593</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29396832</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaroline/pseuds/notcaroline</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Against all odds, Taeyong finds himself being courted by a persistent Johnny.</p>
<p>Against his better judgment, Taeyong lets him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or: The inside of Taeyong’s wrist is bare and unblemished. Johnny’s is marked with the shape of the scar that sits just below Taeyong’s eye.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lee Taeyong/Suh Youngho | Johnny</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>180</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>pull the stars down from the heavens, fill your empty skies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title is taken from I’m Yours Tonight by The Academy Is…</p>
<p>I posted a <a href="https://twitter.com/nopenotcaroline/status/1360588040511442949">mood board</a> on Twitter. :)</p>
<p>If you’d like to get into the vibe of the story, I recommend listening to Kodaline’s One Day (2014 Version). If you’re Filo, <i>please</i>, listen to UDD’s Tadhana as well. I realized about halfway through writing how perfect the song is for this, and I had a good cry lmao.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>i.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The topic of soul marks is one that is explored thoroughly and enthusiastically, far and wide. These marks, which make their way on the inside of one’s wrist, are said to be an expression of generosity from the Fates, who’d intervened out of pity for mortals and the oft-failed unions they were doomed to have. Questions on how or when these came to be largely remain unanswered, serving as a perennial source of ire among scholars and historians.</p>
<p>The prevailing notion among older folks is that to have one’s mark be bared for the world to see is immodest, even vain. Only potential partners should be privy to such an intimate detail of your body, they would insist. The generations that followed, however, have increasingly challenged the idea. It is, after all, a natural part of life.</p>
<p>Many have built and sustained empires making bracelets, watches, and other accessories designed to hide or flaunt these marks, and it is not uncommon for people to be seen wearing or purchasing them. Because soul marks could appear at any moment between the ages of thirteen and twenty one, parents are regularly advertised to. Teenagers would be gifted these accessories during birthdays or milestone celebrations; a thrilling reminder of the life that awaits them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Taeyong’s parents never imposed their views on him. They didn’t pressure him into wearing a band around his wrist under the pretense of protection or pride, but they have never hidden their excitement about welcoming his soulmate into their small family, either.</p>
<p>They must be wonderful, his parents would say, the one who destiny decided would best cherish and care for their only son in the way he needed and deserved. The one who would fight in his corner, celebrate him and with him, forever and for always; a lifelong partner in traversing the joys and sorrows of the world.</p>
<p>It never occurred to his parents that Taeyong might be among the outliers, one of the few millions whose bodies enter and exit the land of the living as they are: untouched by the Fates, bound to no one.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The blankness of his wrist was a sore point that high schoolers, obsessed with the concept of hierarchy, were all too happy to poke at and rub raw. Even if he decided to wear a band just to deter the social vultures, who ruthlessly flocked to him daily like clockwork, his status as Unbound would not have been kept private for long.</p>
<p>(Taeyong didn’t intend to hide it like a dirty secret. Being a casualty of the Fates’ whims wasn’t something he thought he should feel ashamed of, heartache notwithstanding. His schoolmates were diligent enough to make certain that he never forgot.)</p>
<p>Being Unbound became less of a liability when he went off to college. This was a time in people’s lives that was marked by change and experimentation; a limbo between the juvenile fixation on idyllic relationships and the restless anticipation of meeting one’s Fated.</p>
<p>“People have to let off steam, <em>somehow</em>,” he was once told at a party. It was a revelation.</p>
<p>Taeyong’s previous experiences left the impression that there could only ever be two reactions to his status: pity and hostility. It’s during his college years that a third one made itself known: indifference—towards the absence of his mark, towards keeping up pretenses.</p>
<p>There was a benevolence in the transparency of their intentions which he appreciated, no matter how impersonal. It afforded him self-awareness, a double-edged sword that he often caught the shorter end of, but was grateful for nonetheless. Because even as he was reminded of his place, of the ephemerality of what he could have, as liberating as it was crucifying, he was being <em>considered.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Taeyong is twenty two and the skin around his wrist remains bare and unblemished, and it will be for as long as he lives. He knows his status makes him odd to many, and expendable to others. He is someone they could play house and fool around with before they were ready to find the love of their life. When all is said and done, he will be nothing but a forgotten footnote in their fate-designed happily ever after.</p>
<p>This is the role he is resigned to play.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>ii.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His new cubicle neighbor, an American who’s twenty seven like himself, is a very tall man. It’s almost comical, the way his stature casts a long, imposing shadow on Taeyong, whose lithe frame appeared deceptively small when seated. He’s certain the supervisor who chaperoned Johnny Suh to his new workspace would have laughed, if he weren’t so eager to take his smoke break. Maybe Taeyong would have laughed, too, if the look in Johnny’s eyes didn’t make him want to take flight. </p>
<p>He wonders if this is acceptable where Johnny’s from—to stare at someone who barely qualified as an acquaintance until their skin prickled with distress, prey instinct triggered. Taeyong doesn’t know a single person who wouldn’t bristle under such scrutiny. But he elects to chalk it up to cultural differences; he knows all too well the burn of snap judgments.</p>
<p>Taeyong stands and takes Johnny’s proffered hand to shake, despite his misgivings.</p>
<p>When Johnny smiles, Taeyong stops thinking altogether.</p>
<p>It’s incandescent, and it brings out an attractive fullness in his cheeks. It’s the kind that’s a little surreal to witness, hurt a little to look at, a little like staring into the setting sun. The kind he knows he’ll tuck away in the corner of his mind where other keepsakes from past lovers and missed connections dwell; never to be brought out to light, never to be forgotten.</p>
<p>Taeyong is left feeling undone, even after Johnny has shuffled into his new home in the office—the cubicle right across his own. He is relieved he had the sense of self-preservation to avoid looking at their joined hands. The blankness of his wrist has never felt more pronounced.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Their department ran more like a well-oiled machine, less like a family, and that’s how it’s always been. These are people he is inclined to trust to carry their weight and do their part, but not company he is keen on keeping beyond the four walls of the office. Taeyong thrives in structure; he understands that there are roles to play and a status quo to keep. He is happy to endure small talk in the break room if it means he wouldn’t need to let anyone in beyond what he’s contractually obliged.</p>
<p>Johnny’s arrival changes a few things.</p>
<p>For one, he’s made a habit of looking at Taeyong when he thinks the other man’s mind is lost in the demands of their day. It doesn’t seem to disrupt his work. Johnny has beat his deadlines consistently in spite of his perplexing, if a little invasive, pastime. Taeyong himself is not a slacker. He’d sooner die than let an overly curious colleague affect his performance, yet he cannot deny the way Johnny makes his fingers stutter over his keyboard.</p>
<p>The invitations to lunch were by far the most noteworthy change. Johnny is as perceptive as he is persuasive, and the combination is powerful when it is embodied by someone so disarming. He’s made note of the alarmingly short breaks Taeyong was taking, and he makes a case about how these could not have been enough to sustain him throughout their 9 to 5.</p>
<p>Even in the face of genuine concern about his wellbeing, Taeyong is skeptical, and it moves him to decline Johnny’s invitation. But then Johnny asks again, and again, and again, gentle even in his insistence. And Taeyong should be annoyed, but underneath the offers, there is <em>something</em> that piques his interest instead.</p>
<p>It is partly out of politeness, partly due to his own curiosity, that Taeyong eventually gives in. The boyish grin he is rewarded with is breathtaking. It is nothing compared to the sweet, ruddy pink Johnny wears on the tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks when he makes Taeyong laugh for the first time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Seeing a friend’s soul mark is hardly anything his generation is scandalized by. It is simply an inevitable result of shared time and proximity with another human being. But it is possible, given the scant number of Unbound scattered across the world, that it is the first time Johnny has met anyone like him. It would certainly explain the reaction marring the usually easy-going man’s features.</p>
<p>“Why,” Johnny struggles to say, each inhale and exhale racked by disbelief, “is your wrist blank?”</p>
<p>He shrugs, noncommittal and resigned, the familiar weight of the question rolling off his shoulders. “I stopped trying to find answers when I was nineteen.”</p>
<p>“No, I mean…” he trails off and fixes Taeyong with a look that makes his skin prickle. It reminds him of the day they met. “Are you sure?”</p>
<p>The strange question catches him off guard. He hears and feels the staccato of a rueful laugh before he realizes it’s his.</p>
<p>“I didn’t have it zapped off, if that’s what you’re asking.”</p>
<p>There are rebellious hearts that pay good money for the chance to amend their destiny, if only superficially. Soul marks cannot be erased the way tattoos can. These were embedded unto skin with magic older than the Earth itself, indescribable and elusive even with the aid of modern tools. The procedures are known to be costly and painful. Less painful, he supposes, than an enduring reminder of what isn’t yours to keep.</p>
<p>Johnny stares at him for a long time, and he’s quiet for even longer. Time stretches slowly enough for a compulsion to crawl from the base of Taeyong’s spine, rising surely until it is suspended in his throat, but he manages to keep the apology from slipping between his lips. From the corner of his eye, he sees Johnny taking off his watch and rolling up the sleeve of his left arm. Taeyong braces himself for what awaits him.</p>
<p>Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of his scar, the one just beneath his right eye, on the inside of Johnny’s wrist.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>There is a pregnant pause. Over the sound of his heart shattering over their feet, over the cruel joke for which he was the punch line, Taeyong hears himself whisper, “It’s <em>not</em> <em>me</em>, Johnny. We both know it isn’t.”</p>
<p>“The Fates don’t make mistakes, Taeyong,” Johnny counters, and it’s something Taeyong cannot refute, because it’s true. It’s why he’s long given up the pointless pursuit of a question that need not be asked and answered. He is Unbound, simply <em>because, </em>and that is that.</p>
<p>The Fates do not err, but humans do.</p>
<p>Johnny is skilled in the art of persuasion, can make a white lie look shiny and true. The way he speaks leaves no room for gray areas that are not by his design. Taeyong himself has seen his brand of magic first-hand, knows it’s what makes him an invaluable asset to their team. Still, he has lived far too long in the black and white to be so reckless as to surrender to the convenient truth that Johnny is selling.</p>
<p>And yet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Against all odds, Taeyong finds himself being courted by a persistent Johnny.</p>
<p>Against his better judgment, Taeyong lets him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>iii.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The changes are small, not quite as observable as the beginnings of what Taeyong believed was circumstantial friendship, but big enough for the watchful eye, and there are many watching Johnny. Taeyong can’t blame them. Johnny has broken the monotony in their office without real effort, lighting up every room with an energy that many were eager to soak up, not unlike the sun that sunflowers can’t help but face and follow faithfully.</p>
<p>Their colleagues have soulmates to come home to or look forward to finding, and while he doesn’t understand how they could entertain the idea of someone else while a soul tailor-made for theirs waits, he knows that Johnny is a force to behold, and Taeyong is hardly the only one with eyes.</p>
<p>Johnny is discreet, hides his interest in Taeyong in plain sight, obvious only to whoever cared enough to look closer. It is as though he knew, without being told, the burden that unwanted attention placed on people who were forced to live through life the way Taeyong has.</p>
<p>They haven’t spoken about the shape that marks Johnny’s wrist and its absence on Taeyong’s. Not until Taeyong is ready, although Taeyong isn’t sure he ever will be. Still, in the meantime, Johnny offers his reassurance—a cup of freshly brewed coffee when Taeyong is too wrapped up in work to make one himself, a helping of dessert to make the difficult days a little sunnier, a squeeze of a hand just because, so he remembers Johnny is <em>there</em>, alongside him.</p>
<p>Each small act of affection takes root in the space Taeyong holds for Johnny in his heart, and every day, the space grows that much bigger. He doesn’t know what he would do with all that space, when Johnny is gone and has taken all the best parts of Taeyong with him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>On the white wall opposite Johnny’s bed, a projector plays Taeyong’s favorite film. The promise of <em>something</em> thrumming in the air sends Taeyong back to when he was twelve—a mousy kid with clammy hands, a mouth full of braces, and a heart beating a mile a minute. Soul marks hadn’t yet complicated the already delicate concept of adolescent dating, but he kept his distance from the boys he pined for, even in his youth. It’s a habit he hasn’t quite outgrown.</p>
<p>“Earth to Yong?” Johnny whispers, kind and cheeky. Even in the low light, there is no hiding from Johnny.</p>
<p>“Sorry, I’m just—I’m nervous,” he admits as he wrings his hands in his lap. The bed shifts and yields under Johnny’s moving body, and just like that Johnny is closer, a source of radiant heat along his side.</p>
<p>“There’s no reason to be. It’s just me,” Johnny says, oblivious to how no other man has ever tempted Taeyong to abandon reason, made him want to surrender, like he has.</p>
<p>He rides an unexpected surge of courage so that he can meet Johnny’s gaze, but he loses his nerve when he sees the way Johnny’s looking at him. Reverent, like he’s something other than a broken man destined to have a broken heart. Like there’s no price he wouldn’t pay to get caught in Taeyong’s storms, especially if it meant he could delight in the twinkle of Taeyong’s eyes until their hair turned silver like starlight.</p>
<p>Johnny kisses the way Taeyong imagined he would; assertive and generous, just as he is in every other aspect of his life. His lips feel softer than silk, every artless press of skin on skin sweeter than a love song, and when he welcomes Johnny into his mouth for the first time, he knows for certain that no one else could ever compare. Because Johnny swallows every single tremble of hesitation, replacing them with love tenfold, like he intends to during every kiss thereafter. </p>
<p>The white-hot heat of a nameless emotion buzzes in his bloodstream. It roars from the tips of his toes to the marrow of his bones, setting him aflame from the inside out, until even the forgotten corners of Taeyong’s heart were glimmering in the light. He wonders if Johnny feels it, too.</p>
<p>(Distantly, he hears Howl tell Sophie, “Sorry I’m late. I was looking everywhere for you.”)</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>There is no singular memory during their time together that he could call his favorite, because each passing second is infinitely more meaningful with Johnny in his life. Johnny, who aches to peel back the layers of the armor Taeyong wears day in and day out. Johnny, who lent color to the miserable spectrum of gray that has made Taeyong as brittle as he is resilient.</p>
<p>Hearing Sinatra crooning from the turntable and knowing that Johnny’s sitting cross-legged on the hardwood floor, rifling through the ever-growing vinyl collection that he called his pride and joy, providing occasional commentary as he finds the perfect sonic backdrop for the meal Taeyong’s preparing.</p>
<p>The way Johnny chases the fragrant smell of butter, flour, and sugar lingering on Taeyong’s hands after he’s laboriously made pastries from scratch. A scent Johnny loves, second only to the smell of Taeyong’s shampoo on the hood of his jackets.</p>
<p>Searching for Johnny in a room full of people, and seeing him already waiting, with a smile and a seat.</p>
<p>Too-large clothes in the top drawer of Taeyong’s dresser, too-small clothes in Johnny’s closet.</p>
<p>Silly Polaroid pictures of himself pressed between the pages of Johnny’s books.</p>
<p>Two mugs and coasters on the coffee table.</p>
<p>Hands that wait to be held.</p>
<p>The things that make him feel like he’s part of a home—those are his favorite.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>All good things come to an end—a proverb, a warning. For Taeyong, it’s a lesson often learned the hard way. The Fates always found ways to remind him that he could never be too selfish, and that bargaining for more than what he was dealt with would have consequences.</p>
<p>But with Johnny, he just couldn’t help himself.</p>
<p>Taeyong mouths three words onto Johnny’s skin every time they make love, sows his wordless confessions in between sheets and into pillows, hopeful that they would one day bear fruit. Something Johnny could remember him by, when the space beside him is no longer Taeyong’s to occupy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>iv.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Johnny’s company has kept him warm through the chill of fall and the freezing winter. Spring is fast approaching, and with it would come the end of the best thing Taeyong has ever known, and the best there ever will be. This is already more than he could ever say about the dalliances he’s had through the years, each one as unremarkable as the last.</p>
<p>The Fates have indulged him long enough; he was always meant to leave. And perhaps it is best to leave like this, before the pain of hearing Johnny speak about a future Taeyong knows they won’t share could leave any more lasting scars. So that Johnny could still find it in him to look back on their affair with fondness and not see it for what it has always been: borrowed time.</p>
<p>On a Friday night, just after work, Taeyong breaks.</p>
<p>“I don’t belong to anyone, Johnny. I don’t have anyone to call mine, either. And that’s fine. I’ve already made peace with it. But you <em>do</em>. And I—I can’t <em>do</em> <em>this</em> to you, and you can’t <em>make</em> me. I’m not taking you away from who you’re meant to build a life with.”</p>
<p>“But have you asked me what I want? Because if you have, you’d know that the one I want to build a life with is <em>you</em>,” Johnny says, his voice thick but determined.</p>
<p>But Taeyong is not so easily swayed. He’s strong in his own right, even if it’s for the wrong reasons.</p>
<p>“You say this now, but what happens when you find them, Johnny?”</p>
<p>‘<em>What happens to me?’ </em>he doesn’t say, but Johnny hears it, anyway.</p>
<p>Through the shine of his unshed tears, he sees the smile on Johnny’s lips, the kind you might wear even if you’re hurting yourself. He feels the weight of it in his heart. “There is no one else, Taeyong. There is only you.”</p>
<p>It’s cliché, the stuff that inspires tears in lovelorn teenagers, but he knows Johnny means every word. That’s the worst part, he thinks. Johnny’s conviction, his confidence in subverting the wishes of a higher power, terrifies Taeyong.</p>
<p>“I don’t know if I can let myself believe that,” he whispers softly, shaking his head.</p>
<p>“Keep me around, anyway,” Johnny pleads. Just as soft, just as desperate. “I’ll prove it to you, every day, until you do.” He takes Taeyong’s hand and their fingers intertwine, as easy as it has always been. Taeyong hopes he’ll remember this feeling, a keepsake he promises to treasure from this fragment of time, when he and Johnny were young and happy and wrapped up in so much love.</p>
<p>He summons the courage to smile, shaky but sure, with as much kindness as he can manage, because it’s what Johnny deserves. Taeyong finds that he does not need to try too hard. For Johnny, he’s willing to do anything, especially if it’s the right thing to do.</p>
<p><em>‘You’re going to be so happy. They’ll be everything you could ever need, everything I can’t be for you. Letting you go will be the most difficult thing I’ll ever have to do, but my pain is a small price to pay, to know you will be exactly where you need to be. And in your happiness, I might one day be able to find mine,’ </em>he doesn’t say, but Johnny hears it, anyway.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rarely is there ever any sweetness in hollow victories like these. Like each moment of weakness depletes him of life, bit by bit, the veneer of joy as fleeting and fragile as its foundation. It’s almost never worth it. The melancholy saturating his apartment is an inescapable thing, a deep, deep blue shadow that doesn’t know time. It’ll be a while before he can shake it off; he’s never felt the blues this bone-deep.</p>
<p>It is misplaced, because Taeyong doesn’t regret leaving. He never does. He hasn’t once let his own bitterness sour anyone else’s happiness. What he has to offer doesn’t stand a chance against something divine in nature, he knows that. So he leaves, and he will leave every single time, even if he must pick up the pieces of his heart on his way out. Even when he knows there are pieces he will never get back.</p>
<p>He fails to consider Johnny’s persistence, because Tuesday night brings Johnny to his doorstep. His soul mark is bared to the world, broken heart beating on his sleeve—Taeyong’s doing, and Taeyong’s for the taking. This is the first time he’s seen Johnny since he left, having given in to his nerves and calling to take a few days off from work. It looks like a shadow has been clinging to Johnny, too.</p>
<p>“I’m scared,” he croaks quietly, like he hopes the Fates won’t hear. His tears fall, this time, and they stain the front of Johnny’s shirt, one that he recalls putting in the washer himself, just last week. “I’m so scared.”</p>
<p>He feels a loving press of lips against the dip of his scar before he hears Johnny whisper, “I know. But I can be brave enough for both of us, if you let me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Taeyong blossoms for Johnny like a rose wary of its thorns. He spent his whole life making himself small, showing his blank wrist like a forewarning, molding himself in the way that was least burdensome to temporary fixtures in his life. But the desire to truly be seen and known is an old, familiar ache, albeit an infrequent indulgence. In the safest of places, cradled between Johnny’s arms, he bares the parts of his soul that he’s painstakingly withheld from the eyes of the world, from Johnny, and from himself.</p>
<p>Johnny returns Taeyong’s honesty in kind.</p>
<p>He tells Taeyong about Chicago and the mix of emotions he felt about growing up in a place that at once made him feel foreign and whole. How he caused a scene when he was fifteen, his presentation interrupted by the flurry of curses rushing out of his mouth, when the shape of Taeyong’s scar found its home on the inside of his wrist. How in a matter of weeks, he committed every line and curve to memory, so that when he met his soulmate, there would be no mistaking the will of the Fates.</p>
<p>How he was so captivated by the way the light caught in Taeyong’s eyes, on the fateful day that they were introduced, that he almost missed the rose he spent over a decade searching for. How he knew, from the first hard-won smile Taeyong hid bashfully behind his delicate hand, that there couldn’t possibly be anyone else for him, in this life, the next, and the one after that. </p>
<p>How he hadn’t known strength before he’d known the enduring kindness of Taeyong’s heart. How between the laughter, the sadness, and the quiet promises, he grew more certain of the life they’d have together. How Taeyong would be adored by his mother and the rest of his rowdy family.</p>
<p>How he would have waited a lifetime, if it meant Taeyong would spend the next with him.</p>
<p>For the first time, in the tenderness of Johnny’s endlessly patient devotion, Taeyong lets himself believe.</p>
<p> </p>
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<p>v.</p>
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<p>He is thirty three when he dares to marry the love of his life. Their wedding is intimate, an experience they shared only with those who have seen them in all of their seasons. They, too, will remember the way Johnny faltered when Taeyong’s name first fell from his tongue as he began to recite his vows, and the way Taeyong struggled to say anything at all.</p>
<p>He knows now that the unraveling of a beautiful dream, no matter how vivid or lifelike before his eyes and beneath his fingertips, can never truly replicate the real thing. Fitted in matching ivory suits, resplendent with joy that cannot be tempered, bound in a way that is inexpressible through the limits of language—this is beyond anything he could have ever imagined for himself.</p>
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<p>He watches his Johnny dance with one of their flower girls, upper body bent forward slightly to make up the difference of their height, her tiny feet on top of his as he moves them in a terrible imitation of a waltz. It brings a smile to the little girl’s face, as well as to Taeyong’s.</p>
<p>A soft caress to his cheek pulls him away from the sight of his husband on the dance floor and back into his conversation with his mother. The expression on her face is the same one she wore that day he’d gone back to his hometown for the holidays, when Johnny endeared himself to Taeyong’s extended family in a matter of hours, charming even his reserved father and moody young cousins. She had looked at him like it was the first time she’d seen him in years.</p>
<p>“Welcome back, my Taeyong,” his mother had said to him as they put away the leftovers, in a hushed voice, with an emotion he could neither name nor measure.</p>
<p>Taeyong held in his tears until he was upstairs with Johnny, recounting the encounter in his childhood room, on the twin bed that was barely big enough for two, drawing calming breaths as his heart beat in time with its other half. He had understood full well the sentiment behind his mother’s words, because he saw it, too, the way he’s changed, and it was obvious why. </p>
<p>Johnny has made him brave, and their love nourished him into full bloom.</p>
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<p>When he is fifty five, in the home he and Johnny built from the ground up, teeming with the love and hope they planted at every inch and every corner, Taeyong lays any lingering fears to rest.</p>
<p>The sunlight winks onto the gold band on his beloved’s finger. It is as though the Fates are engaging him in silent conversation, prodding him to look at the wrist that bore the wondrous affirmation of what his husband had always known.</p>
<p>Johnny was right; their love was written in the stars.</p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is the first piece of fiction that I’ve finished writing in the last six years, so just know that I’m very grateful that you gave it a chance. It’s terrifying, putting my work out there when I know I’m rusty af, but I’m excited to share it, too! I was actually in the middle of working on another Johnyong fic when this idea came to me at 1 AM on a weekday lmao. It just started writing itself, and, well, here we are. I know it’s not much, maybe a little all over the place, and some details are intentionally ambiguous (some might just be plot holes lmao whoops!!!), but thank you for making it this far, anyway. &lt;3 </p>
<p>Feel free to message me over on <a href="https://twitter.com/nopenotcaroline">Twitter</a>! It’s not my main account, but I’m on there pretty often. :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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